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by TurtleTotem



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [24]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Kings Rising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 08:13:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16888872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/pseuds/TurtleTotem
Summary: Laurent has been away from home too long.(On Tumblrhere.)





	Home

Moving to a combined Akielon-Veretian court at Marlas had not been without its challenges—which was to say that literally nothing had happened quickly or easily. Laurent had put off returning to Arles in person for probably much longer than he should have, but in the end it was inevitable that some things required direct royal oversight.

“There’s no reason for both of us to be absent,” Laurent said when Damen spoke of accompanying him, “and many reasons against it, especially with the Patran ambassador expected any day.” He paused in writing the list of packing instructions for his valets and turned to face Damen, whose expression was distinctly unhappy. “This is the nature of the lives we lead, Damen. There will be separations.”

“I don’t have to like them,” Damen growled, laying a hand on Laurent’s cheek.

Laurent leaned into it, just the tiniest amount. “I don’t either. But I still must go.”

“How long? No more than three weeks, surely.”

“It depends on a great many things, not least the cooperation of people determined to be uncooperative—” He looked at Damen’s face, those ridiculous brown puppy-eyes. “Three weeks will likely be sufficient.”

“Including travel time.”

“Damen…” He let out an exasperated breath. “Very well. Three weeks in total, and I will be back.”

Within days of his arrival, Laurent had moved up his planned departure by a week. In the end, he left a day ahead of that—and then, to Jord’s great displeasure, outrode his escort and arrived in Marlas a day before them.

A night before them, rather. The fortress was a black shape against stars, not even a candlelit window to be seen. Laurent thought it must be after midnight. His horse was stumbling in exhaustion; he murmured an apology to her, and tended to her in the stable himself, rather than try to roust a stableboy out of bed.

Then he made his way into the fortress, somewhat alarming the guardsmen, and into the bedchamber he shared with Damen—where he stopped and leaned against the wall, startled to realize how fast he was breathing, how hard his heart was pounding in his ears. It took him a moment of uneasy self-reflection to realize what was wrong. He wasn’t angry. He certainly wasn’t sad.

He was  _relieved_. He was so relieved to be home that he was very nearly in tears.

He had expected to miss Damen, in Arles. He had expected the trip to be unpleasant, difficult and tedious. He had not expected that the moment he saw the high towers from the road, his stomach would twist into knots. He had not expected that the sounds of his own footsteps in the halls, the way light played through the baroquely decorated windows, even the scents of the very walls would make the inside of his head scream without ceasing, reliving every old horror and pain.

He had never thought of Arles, the place itself, in either positive or negative terms; it was simply where he lived. Now, after the long months away, during which he had experienced greater joy than he’d ever imagined, he could remember Arles only as the place where he was tortured on a daily basis for most of his life. He had cut the trip short because he missed Damen—but also because  _he had to get out._

He was more glad than ever, now, that he had taken the time to visit the burial vaults of his parents and brother, and see to the construction of a modest memorial for Nicaise, the remains of his body recovered from the midden where his uncle had cast it. He was glad he had done it while he could, because he doubted he would ever be able to go back.

Only now, here, did he even realize how exhausted he was, and not half of it from the day’s ride. As his pulse gradually slowed, he let his legs give out beneath him, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest.

This room was safe. This fort was safe. No one here would hurt him—some because he was powerful enough to hurt them back, some because they owed him loyalty, and at least one because… because he loved him.

Forcing quivering legs to cooperate, Laurent crossed the room to the bed, where Damen lay in a pool of starlight from the window, sprawled ridiculously and tangled in the blankets. The room smelled like him, like them, like books and armor and the delphinium on the windowsill that didn’t grow in Arles. Starlight shone on the gold cuff on Damen’s wrist, and Laurent touched his own cuff, the grounding weight of it.

He fought with his laces alone, left the clothes in a careless pile on the floor—shocking behavior that gave him a mulish sort of satisfaction—and crawled into bed, kicking and poking at Damen until he relinquished the blankets.

Halfway through this process, Damen mumbled and yawned, his eyes a faint glitter in the darkness. “Laurent!” he said, joy seeping through the sleepy thickness of his voice. He rolled over and enveloped Laurent in a crushing embrace, all four limbs around him. “You’re home!”

Laurent let out a slow breath, feeling tension bleed out of places he didn’t realize  _could_ be tense, every painful and terrible thing suddenly seeming unthinkably far away. “Yes. I’m home.”


End file.
